Wild Ones
by SirensCalling
Summary: Beth Greene is the youngest of Hershel Greene, packmaster of the Georgia mountain lion pack. Born from his marriage to a human and true Mate, she is unlike any shifter before her. A string of murders calls all the shifters together among them the rogue wolf Daryl Dixon. In him, Beth finds a kinship and something more. Together they hold the key to putting an end to the murders.
1. Prologue

_**warning**_ - _character deaths and kidnapping proceed with caution_

.

.

.

They came in with an explosion-the crack of a gun shattering what had been a peaceful Georgia night. Peace shattered, fragments of sleep left their jagged marks on the family as they scrambled into action.

It did them no good.

They moved with military precision-they should, they'd done this enough. One man took out the male-a bullet straight through the head, the brute hitting the ground in an instant. The woman screamed, the next man took her out.

All was left was the cub.

The youngest among them, a scrawny kid with a pock marked face moved forward to finish the job. His youth made him eager to please. A strong, heavy hand stopped him, pulling him back.

"No," their leader shook his head, his steely gaze unwavering from the cowering child.

"This one comes with us," he commanded. "Burn the rest."

Grabbing the child-she fought and kicked and screamed like the animal she was-he pulled a syringe from his pants pocket, uncapping it, he drove the needle into her arm.

"Enough now, sleep," he murmured.

The child managed a faint protest before she crumpled in defeat in his arms. Shifting her dead weight in his arms, he strode from the house, nodding at the boy to continue. The kid was all too eager to toss the match onto the front porch.

The house was engulfed in orange gold flames in seconds, their light sending shadows dancing across the man's face as he paused to admire them.

And he smiled.


	2. ChapterOne

**" _Men find courage in lions and wolves" - UNKNOWN_**

 _._

 _._

 _._

Beth set her pencil aside, eying her work. On the scrap of paper the wolf looked as though it was prepared to leap from the page and go straight for her throat. Sighing, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear, her gaze traveling over the sketch. With a simple pencil she couldn't quite capture the feral look in the wolf's eyes. Not in the way she had seen it in her dream. She itched to get her set of colored pencils and work on the beast's storm blue eyes.

Beth had been dreaming about wolves-well, just the one wolf-a lot as of late. The dream itself was never changing, and it always left Beth in a daze upon waking, short of breath and her senses on edge. She remembered the dream in scattered fragments, the wolf with its piercing eyes, the night air on her skin, and the screams. Always the screams. And Beth always awoke before she could investigate the source. They were driving her crazy.

What she wouldn't give to dream about boy band members and being late for an exam or something normal.

But Beth wasn't normal-well, she was normal, but that was made her different.

There wasn't much of a place for a half breed in a family of mountain lion shifters.

Beth Greene knew what people called her. They never said it around her daddy; they knew better than to test the old shifter. He was in his sixties and was the leader of one of the largest group of shifters in Georgia, that kind of power and authority wasn't won with nothing less than bloodshed and fear. But even the fear of Hershel Greene's wrath didn't stop them from calling her a half breed. Beth didn't really care though. She'd gotten used to the looks, the whispers. All because her daddy was a pure shifter and her momma was human.

Once, Hershel Greene had been a stickler to the Old Ways. Ruled his pack with an iron hand, forbade any interaction with humans. He even married the daughter of the South Carolina mountain lion leader to make their pack even stronger. When Maggie had been born the pack had rejoiced at having such a fine and strong female shifter among their numbers.

Even after Maggie's mother deserted the pack, an offense punishable by death, Hershel remained the same. But then, one night while he was hunting, he met Annette. She'd been alone, wandering the woods, something no sane human would do. Hershel had told this story numerous times as Beth was growing up, love shinning in his pewter blue eyes.

He said he could still remember the smell of vanilla and wild flowers that had clung to her, how the half light of the moon had bathed her hair in a silvery glow. What Hershel did next, he still couldn't come up with a sound explanation for. He'd prowled into her line of vision and the woman had frozen. Blue eyes wide, she'd stared at him in wonder. She didn't run or scream, just stared at him. The next thing Hershel knew he was shifting to his human form, walking up to her, his eyes never leaving her face.

As strange as it seemed, in that moment, Hershel knew that the old stories of fated mates were true because Annette was his. In the months that came the shifter and human grew closer. And in the end they married both in the ways of the pack laws and in the eyes of Annette's faith. She and her son, Shawn, were brought into the fold of the pack and within a years' time Annette was pregnant with Beth.

There were half breeds before, most were born from two different types of shifters, rarely were they born from a shifter-human relationship. The young from such a pairing were sickly and died due to the fact that their human DNA couldn't cope with the animal inside them. So when Beth was born a healthy baby who flourished into a beautiful blond and blue eyed girl they counted their blessings.

But Beth still wasn't the same as all the others. At eighteen she had yet to experience her first shift. She wondered if she ever would. She knew there was _something_ inside her, something that wasn't human, prowling at the edges of her mind waiting to break free. She did experience some shifter qualities; she was faster than a normal human, her other senses were heightened to a degree.

But these things did not demand the respect of her pack. They saw her as something broken and wrong. She was the only surviving human halfling that they knew of, and that came with the heavy weight of the unknown. Beth didn't allow any of those things to bother her though. Despite being different Maggie and Shawn both embraced her as a true sister, just as they did one another, and in turn Beth loved both of her half siblings equally and fiercely.

With a heavy sigh, Beth took her drawing, placing it in the top drawer of her desk with the others. The pictures of her wolf stared back at her tauntingly. With a muttered admonishment for her stupidity, she closed the drawer with more force than necessary as she stood up from her desk. Pulling her pale gold hair up in a messy pony tail, Beth dressed in a pair of bootleg style jeans with styled holes on the knees and a red and grey plaid over a white tank top. It was a beautiful Georgia summer day, and she was itching to take one of the horses out to the pasture for a good long ride. Slipping on her boots, Beth made her way out of her bedroom and towards the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, the idea of a ride putting a bit more pep in her step.

" . . . . Another one?"

Beth paused at the last step, the voice was hushed, decidedly spoken to keep others from hearing. It was Maggie who had spoken, her older sister sounding agitated. Holding her breath, Beth kept her body out of view, listening intently as her father and sister continued their discussion in hushed tones.

"Fifth one in the last month," Hershel said, his tone wary as his eldest daughter paced restlessly before him.

"This can't go on, Daddy," she spoke, fury lacing her words. "Someone is out there killing our kind-"

Beth barely stifled her shocked gasp, clasping a hand over her mouth as she pressed her small frame closer against the wall, leaning forward, desperately hanging on to their next words.

"I'm well aware of the situation, Margaret." Hershel cut in with a sigh.

"Then do somethin'! What if it's us next?" Maggie demanded. "These . . . these monsters, they don't care if you're a fox, a bear, a wolf or a lion."

Beth scooted further towards the door way, her foot missing the next step. With a strangled cry she fell, twisting in the air, desperately groping for some form of solidity to stop her decent to the ground. She hit the stairs on her side, hissing as she continued down them until she came to a standstill on the freshly polish floor. Pain laced up her side, her ribs aching as she attempted to push herself off the ground.

"Oh my god, Bethy," Maggie exclaimed, rushing to her side in a heartbeat, assisting her younger sister gracelessly to her feet. "Are you okay?"

Beth grimaced as she straightened, placing a hand tentatively on her side. It was tender to even a feather light touch, there would definitely be some bruising. Hershel lumbered from where he had been standing at the kitchen table, his pewter blue eyes taking in the guilty expression on his youngest child's face.

"Bethy, were you eavesdropping just now?"

"Daddy-"

"Beth," when he spoke her name, there was no room for back talking. Beth knew her father was gone and in his place was the packmaster of the mountain lions.

"I only heard a little," Beth confessed, dropping her gaze to the ground.

"Beth-" their father began but Maggie interrupted.

"She has a right to know, Dad," she took a protective stance in front of her sister. "This is her pack too, her family. You can't baby her for forever."

Hershel eyed his eldest, an argument on the tip of his tongue but he thought better of it, instead he spoke calmly, speaking to both of his girls in a calm voice that spoke of authority;

"The last thing we need is hysteria running through our pack-"

"No, the last thing we need is to be taken unaware. Everyone in our pack has the right to be able to protective themselves. Look at the foxes, Daddy. They tried to keep it quiet. Now five families have been wiped out. Do you really want that," Maggie said calmly, but her eyes held a fire that Beth couldn't help but envy.

"Maggie-"

"Dad," Maggie echoed his stern tone.

Hershel Greene sighed, closing his eyes in defeat. Something you didn't see often with the old packmaster.

"I hope you know what you're doing Margaret," Hershel told his eldest, his tone tired, but inside he felt a surge of pride for Maggie. She had the makings for a great packmaster.

"Trust me, Daddy," she said as she moved from Beth's side, reaching for their father's hand. "These people . . . they won't stop. We need to all band together if we wanna put a stop to these murders."

"Murders," Beth echoes, ice shooting through her veins.

Hershel leveled his youngest with a tired stare as he braced one large hand on the arch of the door way to the kitchen.

"There have been . . . for about a month now someone had been killin' shifters and weres. Taking out entire homes, burnin' them to the ground. We've managed to use our ties to the police force to have the official story be arson."

"Last night it was the Clarets, Beth," Maggie said.

The ice in Beth's veins moved straight to her heart. The Clarets were the head of the Bears, Johnathan Claret had been a good man, kind and always willing to help their own pack when it was needed. Johnathan and his family had never treated Beth as anything other than a friend and a fellow shifter.

Beth turned to her father who was staring at the ground, pointedly avoiding his youngest child's gaze.

"Daddy how could this happen?" she asked. "There . . . there are guards and . . . how could someone get close enough to them?"

"We don't know, doodlebug," he sighed. "I've been talkin' with the other packmasters . . . I wanna hold a summons. Get all of us together. Whoever is committing these crimes is getting' bolder and they don't seem to be stopping."

"All of 'em?" Beth asked, her eyes widening a fraction, her gaze swinging from Maggie to her father. "Isn't that risky? All of the head families under the same roof?"

Maggie crossed her arms as she moved to stand beside Hershel. "Whoever is behind this would be crazy to take on a house full of shifters and weres, Bethy."

"Same amount of crazy a person would have to be to go after the Clarets," she murmured, and then stopped, her eyes widening. "Daddy . . . did they find Molly?"

Molly had been Johnathan and Hilary Claret's grandchild, the cutest little four year old Beth had ever met. When they'd come to visit Hershel or attend pack meetings, Beth would take Molly out to the stables to see the horses. Beth adored the little girl. Her sister and father exchanged a look weighted down with words left unspoken that made brought a sinking feeling to Beth's chest.

"No," Hershel finally said, his eyes filled with a hard gravity. "They didn't find any sign of Molly in the remains."

A strangled cry was wrung from Beth's chest at her father's words, as unbidden thoughts of what could have possible befallen raced through her mind. Fighting back the dark onslaught of her mind, she gazed at her father, taking in his wary stance and tired gaze, for the first time understanding.

"Maggie's right then, Daddy. You can't let it just happen," Beth said as she moved towards the door.

Hershel bowed his head, a sigh slipping past his lips as Beth made her exit. He looked Maggie in the eye wearily before nodding.

"If we do this . . . then we do it right. We can't go about this in ignorance. We call _everyone_."

Maggie stiffened at her father's words. "You can't mean-you mean _rogues?_ " Saying the word as though it was some frightful disease.

Hershel gave his eldest daughter a reprimanding look. "We need all the help we can get. Now, Rick has a friend-"

"I don't care! Rogues don't live with the packs for a reason daddy! And you just wanna invite them into our home?"

"Margaret, enough," Hershel said firmly, his steel eyes burning into her own. "I am still packmaster _and_ your father. I do what I have to do to make sure that our pack survives. One day you'll understand."

Maggie just shook her head, a disgusted noise rising from her lips before she followed her sister's cue and stormed out of the house.

Hershel sighed as he reached for the phone, calling Rick.

"Hello," Rick Grimes, packmaster for the King County wolves answered on the third ring.

"Rick; it's Hershel."

"Hershel, long time, what can I do you for?" Rick said good-naturedly, and on the other end he could hear laughter.

"You're with your family, I'm sorry for the intrusion," Hershel apologized.

Rick chuckled on the other end. "You're good, Hersh, is everything all right?"

"You've heard about the killings I take it?"

All humor fled from Rick's voice at the mention of the deaths that had been plaguing the area.

"What you need, Hershel?" Rick asked as he turned away from his family as Lori set Judith in her highchair.

"I wanna put a stop to these killings," Hershel replied gravely. "And I need your help to do that, Rick."

"You know I'll do whatever it takes to help put a stop to these murders," Rick assured the older man.

"Good. I wanna call the packs-all of 'em. Bears, foxes, wolves . . . we need every able bodied shifter. We won't make it out of this if we're divided."

Rick exhaled through his nose as he leaned his full weight on the doorway. "I'll do what I can. Not everyone is gunna be keen on a meeting."

"I know, son," Hershel agreed. "Do what you can. We need every last shifter we can get."

"I know one guy," Rick began, hedging the subject as he scratched at the back of his neck. "A wolf-he doesn't belong to any pack. Doesn't socialize much with other shifters, met him few years back. Saved my life. He's a good man, and a hell of a tracker. Think he'd be more than willing to help."

"Do what you gotta do," Hershel agreed. "And Rick."

Rick paused as he started to place the phone on the wall. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Rick smiled slightly. "Of course."

And with that, Rick hung up, his shoulders sagging as he turned towards his family. Carl was grinning as he spoon fed Judith her oatmeal, the toddler giggling as he made air plane noises. Lori caught her husband's gaze and froze, her heart sinking in her chest. The look they shared spoke volumes, no words were needed. Lori moved to his side, her hand gently touching his clean shaven cheek, a gesture of comfort.

Rick leaned into his wife's touch, exhaling slowly. He knew what was coming-they both did. This peace, this happiness. They both knew that being what they were, peace was a fleeting thing.

A storm was coming.

.

.

.

 _Here we are. Again. My brain wont stop, Im sorry Honstely, having a new story helps me in some ways, if one gets old i hop to the next on the cycle and so on till my brain is refreshed and ready to tackle my other fics._

 _So, yeah. Im tackling the age old shifter/were trope with our precious babies. Ive got this basically all planned out. Thank you Sam, Poppy and my fellow moonshiners. Bouncing ideas with them and deciding on a plot for this first fic was so helpful._

 _In addition-yes, yes the bethyl interactions are coming. Gosh wonder how that will go?_

 _I hope you liked it, this is going to be an M rating, and I will earn that M. Even if the idea scares the shite out me lol_

 _Please leave a review! Im dying to know what you all think thank you for reading!_


	3. ChapterTwo

_**Quick A/N** : Daryl is unlike most of the other weres and shifters. He is a rogue-what is a rogue? In my terms its a shifter/were without a pack. This makes them a bit more prickly and more feral than your average shifter. As wolves are primarily pack animals they do not bode well without one. Daryl is just fine on his own his wolf not so much. Daryl is a lot closer to his wolf than a normal shifter is-a normal shifter doesn't necessarily communicate with their animal the way Daryl can(all conversations are italicized). For your average shifter the animal is more of a sixth sense, a lifeforce that helps them. With Daryl they're divided. Which isnt normal or necessarily good. _

_And note about my other fics-they are gunna be updated. I swear. Work and new plot bunnies get in the way, I am trying to make a balance. I am going to focus on Rock-a-bye, It Starts With Faith and Songbird next. I do hope you'll enjoy this update tho thank you xx_

.

.

.

Daryl swung the ax in a sweeping ark, the log splintering in two. Sweat glistened off his naked chest, sculpting the muscles of his arms and setting the jigsaw puzzle scars on his in their faded purple hue, the two devils on his shoulder seeming to wink from the glare of the sun. With a huff he straightened, sharp blue eyes scanning the line of trees that bordered his cottage. The breeze shifted, and on it was the familiar scent of wolf, baby powder and gun powder.

 _Rick_ , his wolf growled, rankled that a male wolf was approaching his territory.

 _Simmer down_ , Daryl huffed at the animal.

Daryl swung the ax into the tree stump, lifting his arm to wipe the sweat from his brow as he squinted at the dirt road leading to his cabin expectantly. He could hear the rumbling of Rick's truck as it took one of the turns, the hum of the radio playing some classic rock number.

Daryl shifted his weight on his feet as he reached for his shirt, which hung on the post of his fence. Never taking his eyes from the road, Daryl tugged the shirt over his arms and shoulders, his fingers deftly fastening the buttons just as the truck appeared around the bend.

Daryl lumbered forward slowly, head tilted to the side as he watched the wolf, who was dressed in pale green flannel, worn out wranglers and boots. Rick lifted a hand in greeting, smiling slightly at the other man.

"What y'doin' here?" Daryl grumbled, as he took the red rag from his back pocket and wiped at the dirt and sweat that covered his hands.

"Good to see you too, Daryl," Rick chuckled as he made his way towards the man, his eyes scanning the property.

Daryl's cabin was modest, the porch had a single handmade chair, and skins from the game he'd hunted were hung from the rafters. A small garden was located at the left side of the house, where various herbs and vegetables grew. The cabin was untouched by modern scruples, as though time had ceased spinning.

Daryl grunted as he moved to pick up his bottle of water, taking a hearty swing. "Ain't stupid, you don't come out to the middle of nowhere just to see my pretty face, so what ya want, Grimes?"

Rick sighed, hating that the lone wolf was right.

"Been to town lately?"

Daryl's only answer was a caustic snort. "Not if I can help it."

"Then you haven't heard about the killings," Rick hazard a guess, watching closely as Daryl stiffened, blue eyes turning sharp as his gaze snapped back to the other were.

"What you mean?"

"Someone's killing shifters, Daryl," Rick began as he moved towards the hunter. "Last night? They killed the Clarets, burned their house to the ground."

A bitter taste settled on Daryl's tongue, his wolf growling at the edges of his mind.

"Their little girl too," Daryl asked hollowly.

Rick dropped his gave to the ground before adverting it towards the woods. "Our contacts in Morfolk reported they didn't find any child remains."

"What that mean?" Daryl inquired as he stepped onto the porch of his cabin, leaning against one of the posts. "She alive?"

"We don't know," Rick answered truthfully. "We don't know who we're dealing with. Or what they'd want with her. So far they've killed four other families before this; all the same. They kill them before burning their homes down. All the children's remains are missing. They don't look like they're gunna stop either, Daryl."

Daryl turned away from the man, growling. "What the hell ya want me to do 'bout it?"

"I want you to help us, and it's not just me. Hershel Greene, he's the-"

"I know who he is," Daryl spat angrily. "I might be a recluse and packless, but I don't live under no damn rock."

"No one's saying that Daryl," Rick sighed, scratching at the back of his neck, something Daryl had noticed the man did when he was anxious. "All the same, he wants to call a meeting. All the backs-bears, wolves, foxes alike-and come up with a way to put a stop to these killings."

"That don't have a damn thing to do with me," Daryl protested as he began to turn away from Rick and retreat into his house.

Daryl's mind was whirling. Rick knew the gory details of Daryl's past, he knew who his father had been. The man had damn good reasons to stay out of all pack business. Though Daryl enjoyed the quiet of the forest-always had-he lived the life of a recluse out of necessity. And here was Rick, a man who Daryl counted as a friend of sorts, wanted him to walk straight into a throng of some of the most powerful shifters in the goddamn _country_ . . . .

It was suicidal.

Daryl was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard Rick's approach. When his hand came down on the man's bare shoulder, the wolf surged forward, knocking the other were back against the pole, his forearm pressing down on his throat as a low growl hummed through Daryl's chest.

"Daryl!" Rick sputtered as he attempted to dislodge the man, but Daryl was stronger. "Daryl, stop!"

Daryl came back to himself in a flash. Eyes widening in realization, he snapped away from the man, chest heavying in exertion, head bowed as pain shot through his head.

 _Fight_ , the wolf urged.

 _Not Rick_ , Daryl barked back.

"M'sorry," he huffed, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eyes. "Wasn't expecting ya to sneak up on me."

"Naw, should have known better," Rick conceded.

"I can't go with ya, Rick. You see why I live out here, ya know what I came from. Askin' me to sit with a bunch of prissy shifters and sing kumbaya and hold hands and shit is crazy."

"I also know that you're not your father," Rick insisted. "You're better than him. Hershel and I both would be standing for you, no one would say shit."

Daryl just shook his head. "Ya can't promise shit like that."

"Daryl please," Rick implored. "We need you.

"Ain't no one need me, never have, never will; I'm just a trailer trash were, me not going along with y'all won't make a damn bit of difference," Daryl argued.

"You know that ain't true; Daryl you saved my boy, you're a good man." Rick assured him as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Daryl bowed his head, bringing his thumb to his mouth, biting on the pad.

"What good can I do, 'm just one guy," Daryl asked shifting his gaze from the ground to Rick.

Rick moved to stand beside the man, taking each step slowly and with care. "All it takes is one to make a difference."

Daryl sighed. "Gunna be a fucking shit storm, but all right, I'll be there."

Rick grinned, clapping a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Good. Now c'mon, I promised Lori you'd come to our place for dinner tonight. Gunna swing by Hershel's after so you can meet him."

Daryl glared at the man, his mouth setting in a hard line. "Cocky bastard, you were pretty fucking sure I'd say yes."

Rick just grinned as he gently pushed Daryl towards his truck. "I had faith in your sense of justice."

Daryl snorted as he reached for the passenger door and climbed inside. A knot had been forming in his stomach since he'd made the decision to attend the meeting. The wolf was equally displeased, snarling and growling at the edges of his mind.

 _Pussy_ , it huffed.

 _Shut your damn trap_ , Daryl snapped as he pulled his seat belt and buckled himself in.

Damn his 'sense of justice'.

.

.

.

 _Beth and Daryl will finally meet in the next chapter. I always enjoy writing Daryl. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I am thinking about making a glossary of sorts of all the shifting terminology I plan to use for this fic, if you all think its a good idea leave your ideas in a review. Please do review they make me so happy-they make every fic writer happy. It's food to our muses. The reviews you all left on the last two parts were just amazing and i think you from the bottom of my heart!_


End file.
